


Letter to Nowhere

by NorroenDyrd



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Child Loss, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Epistolary, Family Loss, Father-Son Relationship, Fear, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Letters, Past Character Death, Post-Loss, Sad, Short, Talking To Dead People
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 07:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10962864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorroenDyrd/pseuds/NorroenDyrd
Summary: Being allowed to live and atone for his past, and even enjoying the company of some unexpected friends, could be counted as a boon. But to Alexius, having someone to care about means having someone he is afraid of losing.





	Letter to Nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> The female Inquisitor here is, of course, implied to be Yavanna Lavellan from my Amabilis Insania series - but it could be any other Inquisitor who is close friends with Dorian and sympathetic to Alexius, thus earning his gradual (and rather bewildered) respect and trust.

Dear Felix,

I have settled as comfortably as one can possibly get in my bizarre capacity as prisoner turned researcher turned (though I would be loath to admit it out loud) a certain sort of grouchy uncle for this motley gathering of southern misfits. Thanks to the Inquisitor's insistent and rather inexplicable interest in my well-being, I am not required to wear shackles any longer, and the Spymaster's people actually have the decency to vanish into the background when I turn my head and try to catch them watching me. Apparently, this makes my position among the Inquisition's vanquished foes quite privileged. Disregard the slight tone of sarcasm here, my boy: I have long moved past the cursing-and-(metaphorically)-spitting-into-my-captors'-faces stage. At times, I even almost feel content.

I still miss you, of course. You, and your mother. I always will. I know it does not paint the most favourable picture of my sanity, writing journal entries in form of letters to someone who will never read them… But then again, it is not quite humanly possible, is it, to remain wholly sane with two vital parts of one's heart and soul gone forever? You would tell me to move on; you would insist that I still have a future... But whatever that future is, there is no denying, there will never be any denying, that it will be far shorter, far bleaker, than the future that you could have had. Or we could have had. As a family.

I am sorry, Felix. This is not what you wanted when we said our very last goodbye. I AM working to thwart the Elder One now, and perhaps atone for some of my mistakes while I am at it - and I think it would have pleased you. But I cannot do it with a free, strong, and happy heart. Not the way some of those naïve, young, pure Chantry servants are capable of doing it. I will never belong among them, not truly; just as I will never again belong in Tevinter, not after what I have done. I do not belong anywhere any longer - except for that dark, painful maze that is my mind.

There are moments when the pain seems to temporarily fade away. When I can think and talk of you and your Mama with love and pride rather than grief. This tends to happen when I am in the company of Dorian, or the Inquisitor - who, as it turns out, is the least appropriate person I could have flung those degrading words at. You met her but briefly; if you got to know each other more, I am certain you would have become fast friends. This young woman's compassion is exceptional: she was adamant that life under the Inquisition's watchful eye would be a kinder sentence for me than the headsman's axe, even when I myself thought otherwise. She seems to bring out a softer, more trusting side in Dorian, too... And, to be quite frank, I feel like watching their friendship flourish is a major part of my immersion in that 'weird uncle' role that I sometimes catch myself performing. It would not be an exaggeration to say that, with you and Livia gone, they are the only two people in the world I can bring myself to care about.

But even so - I still do not belong with them. Their presence, though uplifting, will never truly heal me. They will never bring me the happiness you wanted me to rediscover. And that is no fault of theirs. It is just how things are.

The Inquisitor and Dorian are fighting on the front lines of a war that is doomed to be futile. They may have sealed the Breach; they may have stopped me before I turned into that monster you were so afraid of, back when you looked into my eyes and demanded to know why I had heeded the Elder One - but the Veil is still wearing thin. The immensely powerful forces that seek to resurrect the Tevinter of our ancestors are still at work. The storm is still brewing, and when it unleashes its full force, it will sweep us all off, first devouring those who fight the fiercest and burn the brightest. I was jeering when I first said that, bitter and full of venom - not really caring for anything save the thought that I was going to lose you. Now, I am no longer bitter. Just mournful. And lonely. Always so lonely.

Even when the two of them - my dear apprentice (I hope he will never get to read this; we would both be suffocated by awkwardness) and my unexpected new friend - are there to comfort me, I cannot truly embrace the moment. I cannot feel… how to put it… complete, like I did when you and your mother were still alive. I have to remind myself that this is all fleeting. That this feeling of warmth, this almost-contentment they kindle in me, will not last. That the storm will lash at them as they defy it, so young and bold and full of hope.

Their hope blinds them - like mine did when I thought I could save you. But now, unlike them, I am no longer blind - and I see what is bound to come to pass. The Inquisitor's body, broken and bleeding, amongst the smoking footprints of demons in the charred earth. And a tall pyre, with golden tongues of flame roaring a funeral lament for the last redeemer of Tevinter. 

Forgive me for waxing poetic (that was probably more than a bit embarrassing). But this is how things are. Despite all my desperate scrambling, I lost you - and I will lose Dorian and the Inquisitor. The only difference is that now I am too tired to weep and to curse and to search for a way to fix things. Not that there even is any point in that.

You were right, my boy. You were so right.

Everyone dies.


End file.
